


Brothers in Arms III - Aftermath

by starkind



Series: Iron Wings Collection [4]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Feels, Blow Jobs, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Desperation, Deviates From Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fast Cars, Getting Back Together, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, IronBat - Freeform, M/M, Male Slash, POV Alternating, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protectiveness, Sexy Times, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3795013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've lost everything. Now it's time to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three months

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning first:  
> This one is going to be a lot darker than the first two. It also does not make any sense as a stand-alone.  
> Since I am experimenting with different POV's and styles, this might not be your cup of tea at first sight.

You spend three months in capture in a cave in Afghanistan before they find you.

Suddenly, all of them are there – Rhodey, Freedom, Hawkeye; even Natasha. Doc Banner and Doc Blake. All of them have not given up on you, have conquered the 1400 miles from Iraq to Afghanistan to find you and bring you home, finally, in January 2001 as you come to learn. How you have no idea. And it does not really matter, because there is one person you are missing the most, and he is not with them.

Your heart almost shatters to a thousand pieces; confusion, worry and fear a tight knot deep inside your chest, beneath the old scars and the new, all over your body. Once you are stable enough to get transported, Rhodey stays by your side all the time from Afghanistan to an air force base in Germany. After some layover time, the two of you take a flight back to the US.

Everything around you seems to happen in a haze. You have lost a tremendous amount of weight, making you look like a famine victim with a long, scraggly beard, hollow cheeks, and empty eyes. And you flinch at the sounds of running water when they first try to clean you up. Rhodey's eyes hold so much hatred, so much despair at having to see you like that, and you try to pull yourself together for him.

Only it does not work, and you fall apart once more when he starts to slowly fill you in on all the circumstances leading to both your capture and your rescue. A video from you kidnappers had been intercepted, a ransom demand. Worst of all, Rhodey says with pinched lips, it was addressed to Obadiah Stane, the person who has been pulling the strings behind the whole thing.

You listen in disbelief because Obie -the Obie who let you bounce on his knees when you were two years old- apparently planned to kill you in cold blood and take over your company. “How” is all you manage to whisper between cracked lips, and you are not even sure what your question is supposed to encompass. How could he have been so ruthless after all those years? How long had he planned out the whole thing?  
  
How could he have been found out and arrested even before the video got confiscated?

At that, Rhodey tries to touch your arm. When he sees you all but jerk away in fright, he pulls his hand back with a mumbled excuse. Instead, he stands up and digs inside the pocket of his uniform until he presents you with a small, silver electric device. You stare at it, dumbfounded, then start to shiver and shake from head to toe as soon as you recognize the battered MP3 player.

No matter what Rhodey tries to tell you after that, you cannot seem to get your body or your mind to comply and need to be sedated.  
  
Your best friend stays by your side until the next morning, when you feel like you need to hear the devastating truth. You then learn how Rhodey received the player via mail, soon after the news of Tony Stark being attacked and probably killed in Afghanistan had been made public. The little parcel had been sent to the air force base Rhodes is stationed these days, but left no clues as to where it originally came from.

James gives you an appraising look before he presses the play button and keeps on watching you closely when the recording starts to play. At first, there is a lot of rustling, but then there is a familiar, male voice you soon identify as Obadiah Stane. Your breath hitches in your throat when you then hear Bruce's voice for the very first time, tinny and so far away, and your heart aches at the way it sounds agitated in between heavy breathing.

Numb to the bone, you listen on how the big bald man intones his threats with an angelic voice until it gets to the point where you just have to squeeze your eyes shut when the audio ends with more rustling and your lover coughing and wheezing. Tears run down to disappear within the pillow, and you press an arm over your eyes to block out the images in your head.  
  
Your best friend has to convince your upset mind several times Stane had in fact not killed Bruce that evening. You need two more days to digest all of the news until you realize that if it had not been for the Gothamite and his recorded piece of evidence, it would have been near impossible to see through Stane's games, let alone get Rhodey and his friends to come looking for you in time.

It makes Bruce's disappearance even harder to bear, and you vow two things to yourself that day: First, you are going to erase everything Obadiah Stane once stood for in your company before you make sure he stays locked away for the rest of his life. Then you are going to find the person who essentially saved your life; the person you love even more than your own life.

+++

Time flies by while you try and reintegrate in social and occupational structures.  
  
During the trial against Obadiah Stane you need to stay in New York as the key witness, but do not have to testify right in front of him. You have summoned the best lawyers of your company, which would not even have been necessary because Stane is found guilty as charged soon enough, and gets life sentence for first-degree attempted murder.

The fact that he dies from a heart attack inside his prison cell six months later gives you an utmost sense of relief, and you dampen any potential pangs of remorse. You do not even care when and where the funeral takes place. Another dark chapter of your life is finally closed for good.

After the trial, you decide you need to get away from the city of New York.

The longer you stay, the more it starts to suffocate you with its memories, its confines. Since your return from Afghanistan, you have called Alfred in Gotham City over a dozen times to inquire about Bruce's whereabouts, but the elder butler only tells you he has not seen or heard from his protege either; after your and Bruce's last visit back in March, over a year ago.

You almost have a meltdown over the line when Alfred calls you Master Anthony, but promise to stay in touch.

Fate has it planned for you to move to the west coast a couple of weeks before 9/11. You live through the following months in a state of shock, like the rest of the world. Rhodey and the others are now fighting the war against terror in Iraq, and you still try to get your life together. Your search for Bruce remains the last sane straw you are clutching on; the one which gets you out of bed in the mornings.

You try to be present as much as you can in the news, hoping your lover sees or reads about you being alive, but nothing ever happens. Alfred keeps on calling you, but it hurts so much, the uncertainty, both of you. At some point, with the ocean sprawled outside your new mansion in Malibu, you begin to register how very alone you in fact are. And you start to seek comfort in the only way you have learned from your father.

You start to drink.

 


	2. Seven years

In 2002, Tony's drinking has become a habit; he considers himself an alcoholic by now.

How his company is still functioning without a stable CEO at the helm only grazes his drunken mind every now and then. Bethany Cabe has long since resigned from her position, but Tony has not bothered to look for a substitute. Why hire an assistant when he mostly stays cooped up in his mansion anyhow? Anthony Stark sure as hell does not need assistance in drinking alone.

If he is sober, which does not happen too often, he feels empty and hollow; kind of like a robot.

+++

2003 finds Tony Stark at a new low when Bruce Wayne officially gets declared dead. Alfred calls to let him know firsthand before the news hit the public. After three years of absence, Tony marvels how much that bit of information manages to cause him such great distress. Maybe it is the finality that gets to him; the knowledge no one cares anymore if Bruce Wayne still lived.

It is only his luck one of the cleaning maids finds him one morning, passed out in a puddle of vomit from alcohol poisoning in front of his living room couch. They rush him to ER and pump his stomach by flushing fluids through a tube inserted into his nose. It is his first near-death experience, and he is almost afraid to admit to himself it had not been as scary as expected.

+++

In August 2004, Tony gets an invitation to a private wedding. It is the first, real public appearance he makes in a long time, though he misses Rhodey by his side. The latter is unable to attend because of on-call duty, and Tony does not know how to survive the day. He sits on a tiny little wooden chair upon the beaches of California one Saturday afternoon and watches Clint Barton slip a ring on Natasha Romanov's finger.

His mouth smiles and says all the right things, but his eyes are so, so dull.

Steve is also there, sitting next to him in a tuxedo a trifle too tight around the shoulders, and attempts to make light conversation. Tony does not really listen, busy trying to keep the tremors in his hands hidden from view. It has been ages since he has been able to construct something without two glasses of scotch beforehand, let alone sit through something sober for longer than two hours.

He keeps on eying the waiters and their trays of champagne flutes until the ceremony eventually comes to an end. Steve takes him home in his car a little after 9 pm, but Tony does not remember much of it, snoring along on the passenger seat. He wakes up alone on his couch the next day at noon, tugged under his tux jacket. Steve does not come by to see him again before he heads back to the Middle East.

+++

Tony encounters his second, close brush with death only six months later, in February 2005, on Bruce's birthday of all things.

Saturday night on the town, a couple of drinks plus a dark and windy road back home afterward, and all that is left from his precious, fiery red Ferrari Modena is a mangled heap of twisted metal around a tree. He gets patched up at the UCLA Emergency Department and sports a soft collar for whiplash injuries, deep cuts on his arms and forehead, and a femoral fracture of the left hip.

Surgery is inevitable, and Tony soon adds a metal rod and nails to his own personal inventory of metal inside his body. He laughs out like a maniac in the hospital bed when he sees the first pictures of his totaled sports car on the evening news.

Recovery takes up more than the estimated six weeks, mostly because Tony does not go by the rules of the surgeons and doctors and gets rest and physiotherapy as he is supposed to. He is in constant pain and substitutes drinking by popping painkillers like candy. It goes up to the point where he takes them before breakfast, instead of lunch, and for dinner.

+++

By some miracle, Tony is still alive in 2006. He goes on and does stupid things, like calling up Pepper of all people. Learns for the first time she has married a lawyer two years ago and now lives in Westchester County, one of the richest neighborhoods in the New York City suburbs. They talk a little bit over the phone, awkward at first, then marginally easier.

She tells him she has kept an eye on him ever since his return from Afghanistan and is glad to hear he is on the road to recovery after his bad car accident. Tony has to bite his tongue before he starts asking questions like where she had been during those times he fell apart; why she had not called him on her own accord if she really cares so much.

He says nothing along these lines, eventually congratulates her on her marriage, and gives a half-hearted, lame promise of stopping by for lunch or dinner sometime. Once they have hung up, Tony realizes he neither has asked her for her husband's name, nor for the children he had heard yelling “Mommy” in the background.

+++

The year 2007 marks Tony's 37th  birthday, and yet he feels as if he is pushing 60. His body is weak from years of alcohol and substance abuse, though he still finds a vaguely youthful countenance staring back at him in the mirror each morning. Lines of worry predominate laugh lines around his eyes; eyes which seem ridiculously large now that his face carries a certain gauntness.

By now, the tremors in his body do not go away anymore, despite mixing alcohol and painkillers for better virtue. Instead, they leave him helpless on the cold tile floor of his bathroom one evening, in the throes of a severe, mental meltdown. It is only due to Tony's non-cooperating hip and high inebriation that he does not go for the hidden Glock 17 in the bottom drawer of his desk upstairs.

As soon as he is able to stand up again the next day, he fights the feeling of rock bottom by calling a rehab clinic nearby. Two days later, on his way to Passages Malibu, he remembers his father's words on cowards and weak-minded people, though not without a touch of bittersweet irony.

 _Stark men are made of iron, Anthony_.

He settles for a 90-day addiction treatment inpatient program and goes through hell and back all over again. Cold turkey withdrawal has him shaking and sweating in the expensive sheets of the Passages, but Tony tells himself that this time, it is for the better. Probably the last chance his body grants him, too.

Once the fog inside his head starts to clear after two months, once he has someone who does listen to him while he tries to come to terms with almost everything from his past, he gets a call out of nowhere. And everything in Tony's life shifts within those two minutes in which Alfred Pennyworth speaks to him on the phone.

Bruce Wayne is alive.  
And he is about to return home.  
_Home._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using some artistic freedom on the fact I've had Bruce declared dead after three years instead of the official seven year period. (Bad enough. Boo.)


	3. One day

On the 24-hour-flight to Tibet with its many stopovers, Tony is unable to sleep. He throws up twice inside the small lavatory of the Wayne Enterprises Gulfstream, just from sheer agitation. Alfred is kind enough to supply water and crackers, and even offers him a strong drink.

Tony is quick to decline.

After the butler called him right in the middle of his final weeks at the rehab clinic, Tony's therapist had been able to treat his nervous breakdown the best way he could, before he allowed his patient to sign the respective self-release papers.

Tony's head still buzzes with a million questions as he sits opposite an equally nervous Alfred Pennyworth. Sadly the butler has no answers either; all he knows is that a call with a very bad connection asked him to come to a certain place in South Asia. It does not help Tony's wrecked nerves that Alfred has not been able to mention his company.

Unsure whether Bruce still wants to even look at him, at what is left of him, is Tony's biggest fear.

Seven years without a word from each other, believing in each other's deaths could not, would not, be brushed aside in a heartbeat. And so Tony keeps on wringing cold fingers and stares out of the small window until the jet descends onto a single, asphalted airstrip in between green mountainsides.

Alfred shoos him out first with an amicable pat to his shoulder, and Tony shivers when a gust of wind encounters his burning cheeks. Weak-kneed he steps down the folding ladder, holding onto its flimsy railing for support until he has solid ground under his feet. The clean, moist air smells so different than what he is used to, even back in Malibu, and Tony inhales with a deep intake of breath.

His eyes scan his surroundings, and he feels his heart start to race in his chest when he spots a tall, lone figure from far away who approaches the jet on foot. Clad in dark, ragged clothes wafting in the wind, the person carries a small satchel over one shoulder. Tony is unable to make out his features at first, but the way he holds himself, the way he walks, gives him away.

Once the man across the tarmac recognizes the unexpected sight that is Tony Stark, his steps all but falter for a moment, and Tony's breath catches in his throat. Upon looking at the person he thought he had lost forever, everything comes crashing over Tony like a forceful tidal wave. His vision starts to blur, but he still notices how the silhouette breaks out into a fast pace towards him.

Unseeing he, too, stumbles forward, until their bodies connect in a crushing embrace. Bruce is almost twice his size by now; with long hair like a lion's mane and most of his face hidden beneath a thick, full beard that holds a surprising touch of ginger. But his eyes – _oh, his_ _eyes_.

That is when Tony loses it, for the very first time in years.

He almost collapses on the tarmac, sobbing and shaking like no tomorrow.  
Bruce catches him before he hits the ground and wraps his strong body around him.  
He smells like the wind, the sun, the earth, and life.

“I got you.”

The Gothamite repeats those words over and over as he holds the devastated, smaller man in his arms. His fingers claw around Tony's bony shoulders and back, frightened by their fragility. Trembling arms worm themselves around his nape, so Bruce just scoops him up with ease. Tony presses his head into the crook of his neck, uncaring about all the mud and the grime.  
  
“God, Bruce...”

It is all Tony manages to croak out, and it causes Bruce to tighten his grip around him even more.

Always the considerate one, Alfred goes to pick up Bruce's discarded satchel from the ground. Wordless Pennyworth then aides his long-gone protege as he enters the plane with Tony in his arms, to make sure neither of them bumps their head on the door frame. Hazel eyes shine with rare emotion and meet the equally wet ones of his oldest, trusted confidant.

“Thank you, Alfred. Thank you.”  
His voice is rough, barely a whisper, but the butler nods his head once, dignified.  
“You are welcome, Sir. It is good to have you back.”

No sooner than the jet is airborne, Tony sits next to Bruce with his head on his shoulder and slips into a semi-conscious state of mind from tiredness and the aftermath of shock. Alfred Pennyworth takes a seat opposite of them and watches how his prodigal son regards Stark's out-cold appearance with a look full of concern, incomprehension, and love.

“We are headed for Gotham City, I assume, Master Wayne?”  
  
Bruce looks up at the formal title. Seven years of absence warrant for the change from Master Bruce to Master Wayne, he realizes, seeing he has turned 30 at the beginning of the year. With another glance at the man next to him and a tender brush of his thumb to the back of Tony's hand, Bruce nods.

“Yes. We are going home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my imagination, Bruce looks like the very Mr. Bale from his 2014 Wall Street Journal photoshoot here (always thought a rugged and shaggy Wayne would've done the trick in that BB scene even better. Oh well)
> 
> I confess I listened nonstop to "Never Let Me Go" by Florence and the Machine during this chapter. I regret nothing.


	4. A lifetime - part I

They arrive at Wayne Manor after a long, strenuous flight and fall asleep in their clothes, but at a respectable distance to each other. Bruce yearns for comfort but does not force it, and wakes first the next morning. He sneaks out into the adjacent bathroom where he sheds about two pounds of facial hair, and almost scares himself when an unfamiliar, sharp-angled countenance stares back at him for the first time in years.

Deciding he cannot do anything about his shoulder-length hair at the moment, he gets into the shower and relishes the feeling of hot, running water for at least thirty minutes. Large circles of sand pool in the drain to his feet as he scrubs away the last remains of his previous adventures, leaving his skin red and rosy.

In the wall-size mirror, some areas of his body and face are more tanned than others, while the rest of him is still as pale and freckled as before.

Dressed in nothing but a pair of clean, black boxer briefs, Bruce leaves the steam-filled room and finds Tony curled up on the side, head turned towards him. His eyes blink open and he takes in the unexpected sight without any visible reaction at first. Insecure, the Gothamite lingers in the doorway for a few seconds, until Tony's mouth slowly starts to form the barest hint of a smile.

“Hey, stranger.”  
The younger man throws stained clothes onto a nearby chair and sits on the edge of the bed.  
“I'm working on it.”

Bruce rubs a palm over his clean-shaven cheek and watches Tony's eyes follow his every motion. It is not so much what he said or how he said it, but it prompts Tony to swallow hard. Full of concern Wayne sees him squeeze his eyes shut, but not before a single tear rolls down. It runs across the bridge of his nose and vanishes in the pillow. Bruce reaches out, uncertain, and ghosts his fingers along Tony's forearm.

“I almost forgot.”  
Tony's voice was timid, just a whisper.  
Bruce's grip around his arm, still hidden underneath his outdoor jacket, gets bolder.  
  
“What did you forget?”  
When Tony does reopen his eyes after a very long moment, they brim with moisture.  
“I almost forgot what your face looks like. All those years, I thought I'd always remember...”  
  
It is when Bruce slides over to him onto the bed and spreads his arms, that Tony caves in. His second crying fit in two days does not surprise either. Bruce sits him through it, with his cheek pressed upon the crown of Tony's head, staring into nothingness. Where his absence has made him stronger in the long run, it has made Tony weaker than he ever would have imagined.

He realizes Tony's scars run deeper than he thought possible, realizes most of them are his fault, and wishes to get back to the day Obadiah Stane visited his younger self at the New Yorker apartment. Wishes to have been able to detect the manipulative nature of the bald man before it had been too late. Wishes to be able to go back and tell 23-year-old Bruce Wayne not to flee the country that reported his boyfriend killed near Kunar.

The Tibetan Highlands never provided him with any information on the whereabouts of Tony Stark, and Bruce Wayne -asthmatic, weak, devastated, alone- never questioned his strong belief Obadiah Stane had his hand in killing the genius heir. Bruce realizes there is so much he has missed out upon, and a cold fear grips at his heart. So much has happened in those seven years.

Almost too much to try and recapitulate in less than a month, let alone a week or two. Then Tony winces in his all but embrace, massages his hip and pulls himself free. “Bad angle.” The realization that he does not know what Tony is talking about hits Bruce in an instant. Tony wipes a hand over his face and slips from the bed. “I um... think I'll go fresh up as well.” Bruce does not move or follow him.  
  
Before he disappears in the bathroom, Tony does turn around one last time.

“Can we... talk after breakfast?”  
The younger man inclines his head.  
“Of course. Take your time.”

When he steps out of the shower, Bruce is gone, but a selection of clean clothes is laid out on the bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest gratitude to the tireless support from Batsocks! I hope beard-less, long-haired Bruce is fine by you as well (recent CB pics were an inspiration, so to say ;))


	5. A lifetime - part II

Wayne awaits him fully dressed downstairs at the familiar dining table, sitting on the same chair even, with a second place setting next to him. Tony takes a moment to watch him from his hidden spot high up the stairs at first; watches how Bruce seems lost in thought with his elbows propped up on the table and his fingers steepled in front of his face.

Something then prompts the Gothamite to look up and into his direction, and Tony is quick to descend. Part of him feels ashamed of how the clothes that used to fit him now hang off his emaciated body, and he hates the way it reflects upon Bruce's countenance as well. Bruce does not say a word, however, and starts to fill Tony's plate and coffee cup instead.

At first, they eat in rather awkward silence until Tony loses the feeling he is being watched. He even musters up an appetite which is uncommon for him these days. Still, he has to lean back in his chair soon, his nervous stomach protesting. His gaze ever so often comes to rest upon Bruce's imposing appearance, and it is only when the younger man starts to blush from his scrutiny that Tony feels a trifle of recognition from the past.

Their fingers brush against each other at some point, and it is like a small surge of electricity. Unsure, Bruce then turns his palm upwards and swallows when Tony does place his hand inside after a brief moment of hesitation. They continue to sit and hold hands until the discreet form of Alfred hovers closer and clears the table.

Once they are alone, they finally start to talk.

The candid way in which Tony speaks about his capture in Afghanistan, about the grueling trial against Stane and his fall into alcoholism, about his near-fatal car crash which left him with a comminuted femur fracture, about his addiction to painkillers and the need to end his life more often than not almost makes Bruce want to throw up. He does not and listens to Tony without any interruption instead.

Inwardly, Bruce is pained by the haunted expression in those large brown eyes and gives a gentle squeeze to his fingers whenever Tony's voice starts to falter. Two hours pass without them moving an inch away from their position until Tony needs to relieve himself and Bruce also gets up, to try and distribute the build-up tension inside of him by pacing the room.

Despite being trained upon Zen Buddhism in various monasteries on his long journey, his mind reels from guilt, remorse, and helplessness. When Tony reappears with two jackets in his hands and the wish to go for a walk, Bruce is only too happy to oblige. Ten minutes later, they stroll along the crunching gravel paths outside of Wayne Manor underneath a light drizzle, but upon Tony's explicit wish without an umbrella.

Bruce shrugs and does not care; compared to the Monsoon season in Tibet, this is nothing.

“It almost never rains in Malibu. Weird how you miss things like that.” Tony casts the taller man a sideways glance before it wanders down to their once again entwined hands. It feels good, stable. Bruce squints upward and runs his free hand in a smoothing motion over too long hair that is covered in a sheen of moisture. “Nothing weird about missing the seasons. It's the simple beauty of things that matter most.”

It hits Tony again how very much Bruce has grown and matured, and a sense of pride fills his heart. He squeezes those long fingers and indicates his chin towards a little, green hill in front. High up there, with the Palisades spreading out in front of them, it finally is Bruce's turn to unburden himself, and he, too, does it with a candor that completely takes Tony by surprise.  
  
“I went to the furthest place on earth I could imagine, hoping I would be dead soon enough.”  
The corners of Bruce's mouth curve upwards in a tiny smirk as he stares straight ahead.  
“As it turns out, staying alive was the best decision I never consciously made.”

Tony follows his gaze and leans closer until he is able to rest his head against the broad shoulder to his right. Bruce reaches out and encircles him in a one-armed embrace. He will yet come to learn of Tony's fear of being dunked underwater ever since the torture he endured in Afghanistan. Tony is yet to hear about the strange herbal concoction from an old mysterious woman high up the Himalayan mountains.

It cured Bruce's asthma only after it caused a toxic shock and nearly killed him. Maybe, Bruce muses, Tony does not need to know about that minor little detail after all. For the moment, however, neither says another word, both too exhausted from all of their previous revelations. Then Tony clears his throat and blinks against the misty raindrops in his lashes.

“Fair warning: It's not gonna be all guns n roses. I... come with a lot of baggage these days.”  
The quiet admission causes Bruce Wayne to give a gentle noise that sounds like a laugh.  
“Accepted – and right back at you. I got you, remember?”

When Tony moves into his embrace and tilts his head upwards, Bruce hesitates for a second, unsure if he interprets the signal correctly. But then there is Tony's hand which sneaks around his neck and pulls his head closer, and Bruce needs no second invitation. Their lips are dewy from the rain. Still, they hold so much of their usual, unique taste that it causes Tony to give a little moan at first touch.

Like a time machine, the feeling is back in an instant, and he hears and feels Bruce sigh into his mouth as well. When both need to come up for air after a while, Tony keeps a hand curled around the nape of his former lover. “Too early to say I love you?” Bruce dips his forehead against his with closed eyes and smiles that sorely missed smile of his.  
  
“Seven goddamn years, and that's all you can come up with?”

Amused and bemused, Tony's dark eyes dart across Bruce's close-up features. The Gothamite then blinks and shifts until he is able to clasp Tony by the shoulders. In slow motion, Tony Stark then watches on as Bruce Wayne gets down on one knee. He draws a sharp breath when long, elegant fingers grasp for his hand and Bruce looks upwards, searching for his gaze.

“Too early to ask you to stay by my side for the rest of your life?”  
Tears of joy mingle with the rain as Tony half-chuckles, half-sobs, and hides behind his palm.  
“ _God._ You don't know what you've just gotten yourself into.”

Insecure, Bruce remains kneeling. He can feel his pant leg getting soaked in the wet grass.  
“Is... that a yes?”  
Tony tugs at his hand and prompts him to raise. He then frames Bruce's face within his palms.

“That's the most goddamn straight yes you'll ever get – no pun intended.”  
  
Before Bruce's mind even begins to reel from the crazy fast mood switch, Tony crushes their lips together. They stand locked in a solid embrace for what seems like an eternity, uncaring about the increasing downpour from above, until Tony gives Bruce a gauging once-over. “But gimme some more time to get back in shape – I wanna look good in a tux next to you.”

The Gothamite's eyes sparkle with mischief as they make their way back down to the Manor.  
“And here I was, thinking you'll be donning the white dress and veil for me. Shame, shame.”  
A rain-soaked Tony Stark bumps into his side but causes him to sidestep only a little.  
  
“Prenup. Definitely. Just for that obnoxious remark. And I want a double-barreled name. Hyphenated of course, cause I'm an aesthete. Tony and Bruce Stark-Wayne. How's that sound?” The younger man knits his brows together as he all but drags his fiancé into the dry foyer. “Pretentious. But if it's your wish... Shouldn't my name be first, though? I proposed, after all.”  
  
Tony wears a certain, cheeky glint in his eyes. It makes Bruce happy beyond comparison.  
“No, because of alphabetical order. And because I'm the older one. And cause it sounds cool.”  
Alfred is the first to congratulate on their spontaneous engagement.

He is reassured when they tell him things will not get serious before another six months; at the earliest. Two multi-billion dollar businesses are about to be involved as well, and both companies are yet waiting for their respective heirs to take back over at the helm after years of absence or negligence. For time being, neither Tony nor Bruce do care much about the legal part of their future union.

All that matters to them is the fact that their trials and tribulations have eventually added up to the comfort they take in being reunited.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, well, this is not how I wanted it to pan out at first, but apparently these two have their own say in this. Bye-bye sweet angst, let's see where we'll go from here.


	6. Resurrection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some luvin in this chapter, very mild I believe, but maybe it does warrant a heads-up..

Since Alfred refuses to lend Bruce a hand in cutting his hair, and Bruce refuses to let Tony go wild on him with a pair of scissors either, the butler takes his protege to town a day later, in a black limousine with tinted windows. When they return two hours later, Tony awaits them in the salon. He does a double take on the clean, crisp haircut that really brings out Bruce's distinctive features, and spontaneously breaks into applause.

Deadpan, Bruce just gives a comical bow.

It is also the longtime butler who takes care of all necessary steps and the paperwork that comes with the rebuttal of Bruce Wayne's presumption of death. Alfred speaks with Lucius Fox and organizes a session with a custom tailor to make sure Bruce Wayne does, in fact, look like he is about to take over the role of the true Wayne Enterprises' CEO in the foreseeable future.  
  
Most of all, the butler revels in the life that has moved back into the stately old manor.

Even though it is now Master Wayne, it remains Master Anthony to Alfred, and Tony does not mind. Ever so often he gets an extra pancake for breakfast, is allowed to sift through the many photo albums of young Bruce whenever he waits for his lover to return from his settling-in visits at Wayne Enterprises and takes great pride in fine-tuning the black 2000 Bentley Arnage, just because he can.

He and Bruce take baby steps at getting to know each other again, and it almost feels like falling in love anew. Everything is careful and tender, and this time, it is Tony who sets the slow pace for once. He allows Bruce to pamper him; with food, with affection, with a lust for life Tony has been missing for the longest time. Their make-out sessions grow in size, just like their mutual desire for one another.

Still, Tony refuses to let Bruce undress or touch him below the waist, and usually goes to sleep at a relative safety distance with a quip or some other excuse. Part of Bruce fears that Tony's hesitations stem from some dark, traumatic experience during capture he had somehow 'failed' to mention. He is relieved beyond belief once he finds out that is not the case.

Instead, he comes to learn it is because Tony feels ashamed of his run-down body.  
Ashamed of the long, nasty scar that now runs down from his left buttock to the thigh.  
Ashamed of his nonathletic physique as opposed to the chiseled, strong build of his younger fiancé.

Once Bruce gets behind those true reasons, he switches to different tactics.

Tony does not know what to say when Bruce takes his hand one evening and leads him over into the master bathroom. There are two floor-standing candelabras in the corners, plunging the room into warm, diffuse hues. The freestanding, antique tub is near-filled to the brim with steaming, aromatic bathing salts. When Tony unconsciously takes a step backward, he bumps into Bruce's broad chest.

The Gothamite wraps his arms around his lover's torso and places his chin on Tony's shoulder. “It's all yours, go ahead.” Unable to flat out refuse his fiancé's effort, Tony eyes the room for a non-existent room divider. Bruce takes the hint and pulls the door shut behind him. “I forgot something. Be right back.” He spends a good three minutes pacing outside the bathroom until he knocks and receives permission to enter.

By now, Tony sits upright in the huge tub, almost ramrod straight, and looks heaps uncomfortable. He tries to muster up a smile for Bruce when the latter squats down next to the tub and puts his arms on the rim. “Too hot or too cold?” Tony casts him a glare that seems to say stop bullshitting me, and Bruce grins and rises. “Ready for your backrub?” He snatches the big bathing sponge from nearby and dips it underwater.  
  
“I'm not even 40 and you're already applying geriatric care. Should I be offended?”  
  
With an exasperated groan, Bruce rolls up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and removes his watch. When he fishes for the sponge and squeezes its contents out over the dark mop of hair, Wayne remains extremely cautious to not let the water get into Tony's eyes, nose or mouth. “Flattered rather. You're the first person ever to receive this kind of special treatment.”

Bruce then starts out in gentle, circling motions over the other man's back, and sees how goosebumps erupt on skin that used to be much more tanned and much less scarred. Once he moves over to Tony's neck and shoulders, the elder man visibly relaxes underneath his touches. The water laps against the tub, and other than their breathing, no sounds fill the air.

The Gothamite moves to be able to reach Tony's clavicle and throat and enjoys it when his lover finally leans his head back against the tub with something that sounds almost like a purr. “Geriatric care's never felt more appealing, just for your information.” Tony's mouth forms a lopsided grin but he keeps his eyes closed. Bruce leans forward to place a kiss on his forehead from upside down.

The skin there is warm and moist and smells like lavender. He then runs the sponge along Tony's outstretched arm on the rim. “Glad to hear. Wanna put up your foot for me?” A giggle escapes Tony's lips when Bruce gets near the ticklish parts of his feet. It soon is replaced by pleasant sounds when the sponge moves up higher to brush along his thighs underwater.

By sheer willpower, Bruce leaves out the most intimate parts of Tony's anatomy, even though he has to swallow a couple of times. When he glimpses up, he sees Tony is watching him, too, with an unreadable expression on his face. His chest is heaving a bit more than moments ago, and Bruce decides to take his chance. “That would've been the official part.” His voice is rough and he clears it. It has been ages since he felt the need to.

Tony blinks. “What... is the unofficial part? Is there an unofficial part?” Bruce gets back into a standing position to let the joints pop in his knees. He then holds onto the rim behind Tony's head and leans in for a sensuous kiss. Tony allows his tongue to slip between his lips and reaches up with dripping fingers to cup Bruce's cheek. Once they part ways, the younger man exhales.

Those dark brown eyes have haunted him for the past seven years and they still manage to get him each time anew.

“Stand up and I'll show you.”  
  
A flash of insecurity moves over Tony's countenance, but after he sees the intensity in Bruce's eyes he begins to rise with slow movements. The way his body glistens with water, the certain vulnerability it expresses, and the unmistakable arousal it displays leave Bruce speechless. Tony starts to shiver a little, and Bruce is quick to fetch the sponge again and moisten his skin with warm water.

He gets a first look at the frazzled L-shaped scar on Tony's hip, and cannot help but to press an impulsive kiss on said area. The other man shifts a little on his feet. “Damaged goods, I told you.” Stark's voice quivers ever so slightly when Bruce starts to run the sponge over his buttocks. “And all of it is mine. Beautiful – and mine.” His voice hums against warm, damp skin.

Wayne smiles as Tony gives a sharp hiss when he brushes the sponge over his semi-hard erection. Bruce then twists until he is able to take him into his mouth, and relishes the feel of Tony's hands in his hair and the way he moans out his lover's name. On his knees, Bruce keeps his hands tight around Tony's rear to hold him in place as he wobbles on shaky legs, and finishes him off sooner than expected.

Afterward, Bruce straightens up and supports the weight of the mellowed out body against his. Tony's damp head leaves dark spots on his cotton shirt. He raises it to give a sloppy kiss to his lover's bottom lip. When his hand goes for the waistband of Bruce's sweatpants and the arousal underneath, the younger man stops him with gentle fingers and a shake of the head.

“All about you tonight, kay?”  
With an agile move, he snatches a large towel from the cupboard behind him.  
“Can you walk?”

Tony harrumphs in affection and takes the towel to wrap it around his shoulders.  
“Stop treating me like an old geezer.”  
He still does not protest too much when Bruce lends him a hand over the rim of the tub.

+++

For the longest time, Tony's dreams were blank.

It was not so much that he did not remember them the next morning, there just were none. Maybe the occasional nightmare right after his return from Afghanistan, but none of those vivid, gory detailed ones his therapist wanted to know about. No, Tony Stark just slept. If he slept. Strange as that seemed. These days, little bits and pieces start to flash up before his inner eye during his slumber.

A lot of colors, sometimes even comforting smells. The warm odor of leather from the wing chairs in his old apartment. The unique scent of Bruce's worn shirts and hoodies. The aromatic smell of coffee from the little Italian shop around the corner. Asleep, Tony also gets the occasional cut-out scenes and glimpses from past events. Most of them circle around the man by his side.

In dreams, he looks down on the young Gothamite as he snuggles in the bed of Tony's former bachelor loft. He sees himself from above, sees the two of them making love and focuses on how Bruce's mouth reaches out for his, hungry, and how younger Tony moves on top of him. Focuses on their entwined hands on the mattress, on their united dog tags hanging from the bedpost.

Unfortunately, Tony usually wakes before things get real saucy, but with a rock-hard erection to match. Many times, the bed beside him is empty, with Bruce having left for work. After three more days, during which Bruce continues to be extra attentive, caring and selfless, Tony decides he has enough of one-sided blowjobs and affection, as fantastic as both are.

It is a Friday night, and he waits for his fiancé in their master bedroom after dinner.

Bruce looks a little stressed out lately, after his third week in a row at Wayne Enterprises, and so Tony wants the evening to be something special for him, for once. He even made sure to do an extra set of pushups before he takes a shower, proud of the way his upper body slowly gets back to being presentable and waits. And waits even longer, up to the point where he dozes off at midnight.

Around 1:30, Tony jerks awake into darkness and fumbles for the lamp on the nightstand. Bleary-eyed he realizes there still is no sign of Bruce next to him, and that is when he goes to investigate. Alfred has long since retreated for the night in his quarters downstairs, but it is not his presence Tony seeks for anyhow.

Quiet he tiptoes along the vast, dark corridors of the second floor until he sees a glimmer of light shining from underneath the old, wooden library's door. When he opens it just enough to peek inside, the sight that presents itself makes him stop and stare for a moment. Bruce Wayne sits, or rather slouches, on the massive auburn-colored leather couch, long legs sprawled out in front.

He still wears the nice looking, expensive Armani suit Alfred had put out for him early in the morning; the anthracite one with a matching silvery-striped tie, a white shirt and black shoes. At least Bruce has shed the jacket and thrown it, kind of careless, over the armrest of the couch. Most important, however, is the fact that he is fast asleep, head tilted back in an uncomfortable-looking angle against the headrest, and snoring softly.

Tony knows by now his lover has acquired a near-impossible sixth sense when it comes to minding his surroundings, but the fact that he does not even stir when the door closes with a gentle click speaks volumes. Stark then sneaks closer and regards him with a thoughtful, but loving expression. Even in his sleep, he can make out the darkish circles under Bruce's eyes.

A thick dossier lays spread open across his chest, all but trapped in the Gothamite's firm grasp. Upon closer examination, Tony recognizes a lot of business figures, paragraphs and text. He ponders his options and starts by slowly trying to pry the file loose from Bruce's fingers. At the sudden commotion, two hazel, sleep-laden eyes snap open and squint at the sudden disruption.

Once Bruce sees who his intruder is, his mouth is slow to form a meek smile.  
“Sorry.”  
Tony is quick to bend down and kiss the contrite away.  
  
“Not even a month and Brucie-Bruce is already working too much.”  
At the bygone nickname, Wayne pulls a face and flips the dossier shut.  
“'M too old to go by that.”  
  
With a small grunt, he pushes himself into a more civilized seating position. While he pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger, Tony hovers above him, arms akimbo. Eventually, he uncrosses them and extends them into Bruce's direction. “Pah. I'm 34 and still watch cartoons. Don't get all ostentatious, my love. Up.” Grumbling Bruce does as he is told, but without taking his fiancé's outstretched hands.  
  
“You're 37, Tony.”  
He throws the file onto the coffee table in front and slings the discarded jacket over a shoulder.  
“Gee, ain't you something, Buzzkill-Bruce. You like that one better?”  
  
At least Bruce now gives a meager, lopsided grin and runs his free hand through his hair.  
It earns him a low whistle as Tony steps up and tugs at his tie, switching from miffed to enamored.  
“Well, Mister grumpy-but-still-hot-exec, ready for bed?”  
  
It is then Bruce notices for the first time Tony's pajama shirt is unbuttoned and gives him a nice view all the way down to the low-rise pants. His tired grouch gets replaced by pleasant surprise, and he reaches out to brush his fingers along the warm skin of Tony's chest. “You've been sleeping like that?” Wayne's voice lowers to an enticing timbre.

There is a brief moment during which Tony ponders whether to go with his original plan of seduction and maybe screw Bruce right there, on the couch of the library. However, he takes a good look at his fiancé’s face; sees the exhaustion and fatigue lingering there, and does what he has not done in a long time: Take responsibility. With a grin, he starts to fumble and closes two buttons.  
  
“I sleep best with you around. C’mon now, off with you.”  
  
Bruce all but pouts but allows Tony to drag him into their quarters. The latter snuggles under the covers while Bruce disappears in the bathroom. No ten minutes later, they lie side by side and face each other in the dark. After his eyes have had enough time to adjust, Tony searches for Bruce’s gaze and finds the other man watching him in return.

"Sometimes I miss it, you know?”  
Tony presses a palm flat on the pillow and extends his legs so that his toes touch Bruce’s feet.  
He cannot help but grin when the younger man twitches at the sudden tickle.

“Miss what, babe?”  
The blankets rustle a little as Bruce shifts.  
“Flying. Being up there, not a care in the world. The freedom that comes with it.”

Before Tony can object, Bruce interrupts his own thoughts with a small snort.  
“Not the war, though, could’ve done without that. Just flying. Not juggling business figures.”  
His voice gets a drowsy undertone when he stifles a yawn. Tony cannot help but chime in.

"We’ll make up for that, I promise. Got a whole aircraft fleet at my beck and call back home. In Malibu, though, not in New York. You haven't seen my new abode anyhow, so it's about damn time. You’ll come with me and pick one. Aircraft I mean. Just no F-22 – I learned my lesson. And then we go up there, just like old times. Just you and me, chasing the sky. You'd like that?”

Bruce is almost asleep by now, according to his unintelligible murmur. Tony keeps on talking in a quiet, soothing voice; telling his fiancé about the bright blue ocean in front of his mansion, the warmth of the sun and the endless beaches until he, too, slips into a peaceful slumber.

+++

Seeing the next day is a Saturday, both of them enjoy sleeping in.

Tony sneaks out a little after 8 am to use the bathroom and freshen up and returns to Bruce still buried deep underneath the covers. In a semi-conscious haze, the Gothamite then snuggles up to him and they hover in a pleasant state of snoozing until Bruce leaves the bed half an hour later. Once Tony hears the faint sound of running water, he rolls over and reaches for his nightstand.

Showered and shaved, Bruce exits the bathroom twenty minutes later and all but freezes in the doorway. Tony is sprawled out prone on the bed; moreover completely naked and with his head resting on crossed arms. He gives his younger fiancé one of his best smoldering glances. “I think there's still some unfinished business from last night.” A lewd grin spreads out on Wayne's face as he drops the towel around his waist.  
  
“Now that's some business I could definitely get used to.”

It is the first time they make real love after their reunion. It is also the first time Bruce insists on using a condom. He has been exposed to many sub-par hygienic situations in Tibet and does not want to risk anything to Tony after his recent blood test has not yet come back with negative results. At first, Bruce is also far more careful than Tony wants him to, but they soon find a rhythm to satisfy them both.

Despite his overwhelming desire, Bruce takes his time and makes sure to explore all of those sweet spots on Tony he remembers like yesterday. He is delighted to find out most of them are still as valid and sensitive as back then, and cause his lover to press his face into the mattress many times to muffle the guttural sounds that escape his throat. Neither of them wants to bring Alfred to the scene by accident.

Their sated breathing and the smell of sex linger in the air once Bruce rolls off and onto Tony's side twenty minutes later. A slight sheen of perspiration nestles in the little dip of Stark's back, right between his spine and the luscious curve of his rear. Bruce runs his index finger through it and prompts some goosebumps on milky skin. It takes great effort for Tony to twist his head to the side and crack an eye open.

“Have you always been this insatiable? I so won't be able to walk today. Or tomorrow.”  
Bruce pulls the covers over Tony's bare body, though not without regret at the lost sight.  
“Getting a bit rusty there, Iron? Don't worry, you can stay in if you want, I'll go get breakfast.”

Before the Gothamite can slip off the bed, nimble fingers reach out and pinch his backside.  
“Little cocky, batshit brat. Once I'm able to move, I'll come kick your ass real good.”  
Bruce blows him a kiss and dresses extra slow to grant Tony a premium view on all his assets.

“Promises, promises.”

 


	7. Recollections

The first time Bruce sets a foot into the beautiful large, white mansion that clings to the cliff side of Point Dume in a daring way, he cannot help but be flabbergasted. Not only do design and size fascinate him, but most of all the audacity Tony had in settling his domicile at such striking point. The latter only grins a proud grin; he never imagined to be able to show Bruce his refugee; and the fact that he likes it pleases Tony all the more.

It is their seventh week together, and the first time Tony succeeded in putting his foot down and getting Bruce away from Gotham City's business for a little time out. He does not like the hardened lines around his fiancé's eyes and mouth that seem to grow deeper with each new day. Bruce is slowly but steadily hitting brick walls when it comes to doing the right things, both for his company and the city itself, and it frustrates him.

Gotham is far more wretched and corrupt than he has ever imagined it to be, and almost everybody is trying to put spoke after spoke in his wheel. More often than not, Bruce ponders whether to just throw in the towel on the business front, put on a bulletproof vest instead and go down into the depraved corners of the city himself, to clean it from all of its scum and lowlifes. It is then that Tony stages an intervention.

“Dial down on the vigilante vibes, honey bear; I'm pretty sure even your liability insurance doesn't cover going on a rampage. Sides, I personally like you more without bullet holes. No, what you need is something else. A neat R&R, away from this quite miserable place on earth.”

Alfred gets invited to come along to Malibu, too; mostly because even if Tony owns a kitchen worth a new car, he never bothered with learning to cook in it before. The butler sees through Tony's vacation sham in less than two seconds and politely tells Master Anthony he may give him a call in case he needs help with switching on the oven. Bruce walks past, hisses something that sounds like 'delivery service', and grabs an apple.

+++

Because Tony does not remember the state he left his house in, way before his rehab stint, he makes sure to get someone to organize a large-scale cleaning session at the mansion ahead of their arrival. Bruce cannot get enough of the spectacular ocean view, the panorama windows that tint according to the level of brightness from outside, or the huge multimedia and arcade room on the ground floor.  
  
Tony, who has remembered his house to be a lot darker and far more depressive, also marvels at its beauty after his long period of absence. During their two-week-vacation, the first thing they do is making excessive use of the outdoor pool and huge patio garden. Both of them lounge in the sun until Bruce eventually sports a nasty sunburn on his buttocks.  
  
Being the attentive husband to be, Tony helps to lovingly patch the sensitive area up with aloe vera cream and some other, not strictly medical treatments. Once Bruce is able to sit for longer periods of time again, he forces Tony to take them down to the headquarters of Stark Industries in Los Angeles; to get in touch with his company's top managers.  
  
Tony has been labeled an alcohol-riddled recluse for the past few years, resulting in his board taking over control to prevent a corporate collapse. Thanks to the board of directors, Stark Industries is still operating at a profit, however, albeit its lack of truly innovative and promising ideas.

“But we're on vacation!”  
At the poignant whine in Tony's voice, Bruce jiggles the car keys harder in front of his nose.  
“Business before pleasure. Plus – I showed you mine, now you show me yours. Easy.”

With a grouch, Tony snatches the keys to the rented Mercedes SLK cabriolet and marches out to where the black sports car awaits them. Seeing he owns no set of wheels after trashing the Ferrari two years ago, they have taken the liberty to try out various rental cars. As expected, Bruce cannot stop to rave on about the latest Lamborghini Murciélago, to which Tony only makes inappropriate noises with his mouth.

When he tries to tell Bruce something about a new Audi sports car in return, Bruce is not the least bit impressed.  
“No fucking way. Scissor doors, Tony. Scissor. Doors. Plus, its name means what in English?”  
His fiancé, who is fluent in many other languages, takes a millisecond to get what Bruce is hinting at.  
  
“Oh, please. You cannot make a buying decision based on the fact the car's named after an animal.”  
Bruce Wayne puts up a very smug and moreover sexy grin.  
“Maybe its 640 horsepower will convince you. Delivery date is in two weeks. Oh, and it even comes in black – just like a bat.”  
  
On the Pacific Coast Highway, with the wind whipping through his hair, Tony goes from flabbergasted to downright scandalized in seconds. After Bruce has basked in his glory long enough, he places a strategic palm upon Tony's right thigh and gives a gentle squeeze. “So go ahead then, get your Audi. We'll find out soon enough which one's more kickass.”  
  
Tony's mind immediately starts to run a virtual car configuration. His lips twist in sardonic glee.  
“Babe, you've just put yourself up for a devastating drag race. My R8's gonna blow you away.”  
Unimpressed, Bruce continues his tender ministrations. His hand then wanders a little higher.  
  
“Until that day arrives, which is never, let's stick with other, more pleasant things to blow.”  
  
Tony's dirty grin mirrors in Bruce's shades as he puts his foot down and lets the engine howl.

+++

The Gothamite is polite enough to spend his time waiting in the huge SI foyer downstairs while Tony walks in as if he owns the place (which he does), and gets to meet up with people he has not seen or spoken to in person for a couple of years. Needless to say, the board of managers is taken by complete surprise at the sight of a healthy-looking, tanned and fit Tony Stark in a tailor-made designer suit.

They manage to convene a meeting at very short-notice and listen as the legit owner of the company gives an impromptu speech about his planned return to the scene. Stark exudes confidence, power and a certain radiance that manages to convince even the most skeptical investors and leaves a spellbound audience behind.  
  
The future is bright and clean, Tony then deduces with a finalized smirk, and no one in the crowded conference room has any doubts he only talks about the green energy program he has in mind for Stark Industries in the long haul. Once Tony emerges from the top floors forty-five minutes later, relieved and hyped up in equal shares, he finds his fiance striking a casual pose at the reception.  
  
Shades twirling in one hand, Bruce Wayne is just making endearing conversation with the ladies behind the counter. As soon as he spots Tony from afar, Bruce graces him with the same dazzling smile he had bestowed upon the four receptionists. From the corner of his eye, Tony notices how his staff is torn between giving Wayne moon eyes and gawking at their long-lost employer.  
  
He, therefore, is quick to put up a winning grin as well and struts near, only to catch Bruce's last few words.  
“Oh yes, I'm very positive Mister Stark will be around much more often in the future.”  
Tony's left eyebrow twitches, just like the corners of Bruce's mouth, even if for an entirely different reason.  
  
With a firm, manly slap to Bruce's broad back, Tony then ushers him forward, towards the exit. “Backstabbing sonofabitch.” The Gothamite gives a very vocal complaint when Tony reenforces his hushed disdain by stepping into the heels of Bruce's sneakers. It causes the taller man to trip ever so slightly. “Rude. You should rather thank me for getting you back in the good graces of your staff.”  
  
Unlocking the rented roadster from afar, Tony jabs a daring index finger at his companion.  
“Good graces, my ass. I recognize flirting when I see it. Get in, your punishment awaits.”  
Bruce has no clue whatsoever as Tony drives all the way back on the PCH.  
  
Instead of turning right towards Point Dume, however, he speeds on until they arrive at a secluded airfield half an hour later. There are no other people around, and Tony motions for Bruce to follow him towards a hangar. Obediently, Wayne even closes his eyes as Stark takes his hand and leads him inside.

“... if this is any gross or whatnot, you'll deeply regret it.”  
The shorter man next to him sniggers.  
“Always the pessimistic one, Brucie-Bear. Would I ever...?”

When Bruce is quick to blurt out “Yes!”, Tony gives an exasperated groan.  
“Whatever, Mister Grouch. Okay, now you can take a look.”  
The Gothamite blinks his eyes open with caution, one after the other.  
  
Takes in the sight of their old F-16's right in front of him.  
Blinks again.  
And is rendered speechless at first.

“I... don't see how that's a punishment.”  
The manic grin on Tony's face gains in intensity as Bruce's eyes wander along the fighter jets.  
“That's cause, for now, it's looksies, no feelsies only. I need to work on em before they go up.”

Bruce gets a certain, wistful glint in his eyes as he saunters closer to the aircraft that carries his initials on the side, and brushes his fingertips against the painted hull. The comedy element is lost to a wave of nostalgia that even reaches Tony. He, too, moves closer and takes a gauging glimpse at his silent fiancé with the stoic face. Part of him wonders whether he might have overshot the mark after all.  
  
After a long moment, Stark eventually clears his throat. “Actually I wanted to show to you once I'm done, but I won't be able to finish them in a week.” A warm hand then worms its way into the back pocket of Wayne's jeans. Tony gets on his tiptoes and pecks the sweet-smelling spot between Bruce's earlobe and jawline.

“It's my engagement gift to you.”  
From his position, Tony can see Bruce's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows.  
“Huh. And here I was, getting you a lousy watch in return.”

Quick to smother his disgruntlement with another kiss, Tony intertwines their hands. Once he is able to pry Bruce away from the sight of his aircraft, he takes him somewhere nice for lunch. Over sushi and miso soup, they talk about the outcome of Tony's earlier meeting and ways to manage both of their business and private lives in the foreseeable future.

+++

Tony still marvels at the JLC Master Grand Tourbillon luxury watch Bruce presents to him a few days later. Something other than the price tag (of course Tony knows. It is anything but lousy.) renders the billionaire speechless, however. It is the delicate, italic inscription in the back. The Latin words read 'Tempora mutantur, nos aeternos' – 'Times are changing, we are eternal'.  
  
It will be Tony's favorite watch to wear for all the upcoming years to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The credits for the part about the cars go to Batsocks - your comment about the BB Lambo somehow stuck with me until now :D
> 
> Furthermore, I really don't trust google translator with the Latin (it keeps on changing the same phrase over and over) but I hope this version is at least halfway correct. Feel free to correct me, fellow Latin experts


	8. Rebirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines are borrowed from the very first IM movie (oh, and I think some quote from the first Avengers movie crept in as well) All credit to Marvel and its writers, as always.

June 2008 not only marks the month same-sex marriages are officially legal in California but also the most anticipated weekend of the year.

Their private ceremony gets held in the backyard of Stark mansion on the 28th, features Alfred Pennyworth as Bruce's best man, James Rhodes as Tony's groomsman, and an officiant who performs a touching, but not too sappy ceremony. Only a handful of guests are present; Clint and Natasha Barton plus their unborn baby, as well as Steve Rogers and Clark Kent.  
  
Tony has forever been intent on playing matchmaker, and Bruce has been wise enough to keep his mouth shut and let him concede.

While Bruce was clear about his choice of a classic, tailor-made black Armani tux with bow tie right from the get-go, Tony has been secretive and more than adamant about Bruce not seeing him before the actual ceremony. Once the clock strikes 10:30 AM, and Stark struts along the vast green grass of his lawn towards the little delegation, Wayne almost loses it.  
  
Tony is decked out in an all-white Valentino three-piece suit with a silvery waistcoat, combined with matching designer high-top sneakers, tie and pocket square. He also wears a neatly trimmed goatee, a pair of Ray-Ban Aviator shades, and the smuggest grin ever. Their optical difference finds its culmination in the selection of their respective wedding bands.  
  
Both had been quick to agree on non-matching rings; because Bruce does not want something flashy, and Tony refuses to wear a bland piece of metal that looks like some spare part out of his toolbox. When each wears his own, engraved wedding band on his finger, they seal their vows with a kiss to the applause of their guests while Alfred walks around and takes pictures.

The wedding cake is a white chocolate pistachio variation that comes in the form of an F-16 fighter jet and causes great exhilaration. It even features two little grooms in their tuxedos standing in the open cockpit. Before Tony launches an adult conversation on who gets to eat top or bottom, Bruce grabs his hand with the knife in it and cuts a slice out of each wing.

Much later, after a fantastic BBQ and when the sunset begins to draw amazing patterns on the huge terrace, Clint Barton feeds his pregnant wife some more cake while her bare feet rest on his lap. Rhodey and Alfred each sit with a glass of sparkling punch as the butler tells a tale or two about his time as a former medic in the Royal Air Force.

Steve and Clark seem to have found a common ground to make small talk as well, at the corner of the huge outdoor table, heads put together.

Tony leans his head against Bruce's shoulder and places his newly embellished left hand upon the table. It is a pleasant, warm summer evening and their jackets hang over the backrests of their chairs. He whispers something to which the Gothamite only smirks before he places his hand over Tony's and runs a thumb over the solid platinum band with its diamond-studded rim.

“We'll see if it's not too bulky for you to work with.”  
Tony follows his glance down before he gives a small shake of the head and grins.  
“The bigger, the better – and it always makes me think of you when you can't be around.”

Inevitably, Tony then regards the plain, smallish ring on Bruce's finger.  
“But that theory better not apply vice versa, or else I'm gonna be mighty insulted.”  
His younger husband starts to drum the fingers of his left on the table in a steady rhythm.

“Not everything revolves around your private parts, Anthony.”  
The genius inventor purses his lips in a mock-scandalized demeanor. Bruce squeezes his hand.  
“But give it a couple more hours until the guests are gone, then I'll renegotiate on that one.”

+++

Instead of going somewhere fancy and exotic for their honeymoon, Bruce wants to learn surfing at the private beach down below the mansion. He, therefore, drags Tony along every morning, sometimes even before breakfast. At first, Stark accompanies him on a jet ski, decked out in neoprene, and always with a cautious eye out for the whippersnapper he now calls his lawfully wedded husband.

As with many other things in the past, Bruce gets the hang of surfing quite fast.  
  
Tony then decides to dig out his own board as well, to prove he has not forgotten how to cut a splendid figure on it, too. He soon realizes there are worse things to do in the morning than watching your well-built husband alight from the crashing waves of the ocean, surfboard under one arm, and a delighted grin on his face upon riding his first, real waves of the Pacific.

From where Tony sits on the beach, he, too, raises his hand and returns the typical hang loose gesture. Once Bruce has plopped down on the blanket next to him, Tony's puts his head on the damp chest. The Gothamite crosses his arms behind his head, feels the droplets of water run from his hair and relishes the peace and tranquility of the moment while the waves lap onto the shore.

“Happy, Mister Stark-Wayne?”  
Bruce takes his eyes off the colorful sky to look down at the dark mop of hair on his chest.  
“Very. But that's still Mister Wayne for you.”

Tony harrumphs and twists his head to meet his gaze.  
“Not on the paper, snookums, we're dead official by now.”  
He makes a point of holding up his left hand to wiggle the attached piece of jewelry for proof.

His husband reaches out and interlaces Tony's fingers with his.  
“Why does that sound so much like a threat to me; I don't know.”  
Tony's free hand then sneaks into an intimate place further south and gives a gentle squeeze.

“Ah, this tempestuous one. My darling, I love you. Where have I been all your life?”  
Bruce can not help but to chuckle at Tony's mock-French accent and quote from Pepe Le Pew.  
“Valid question, Looney Tones. Keep doing what you're doing, and I'll give you tempestuous.”

Grinning, Tony stops fondling Bruce's crotch region and pushes himself into a sitting position. He watches as his significant other watches the sky again and also raises his head to follow his gaze. After a moment, Bruce's fingers begin to caress the exposed strip of skin between the waistband of Tony's swim trunks and the meanwhile near-dry t-shirt he has thrown over.

“About that idea you recently had...”  
The dark-haired billionaire leans back on one elbow and stretches out his legs.  
“See, I knew you'd give that love swing a second thought. We could even...”

“Not that one.”  
Bruce has to sit up as well to trap Tony's once more wandering and groping hands in his.  
“I'm talking about those designs you showed me two days ago.”

“Oh, that.”  
  
Tony's voice sounds truly disappointed, while his fingers still try to gain back ground. Bruce is unrelenting, however, so he slips into a cross-legged position and leans back against that broad chest of the Gothamite. A little grin then creeps over Tony's face. “The unmanned aerial vehicle? Not that wacko after all, eh?”  
  
Bruce shrugs, his chin on Tony's shoulder, as they watch the sunrise far out on the horizon.  
“I still think no unmanned aerial vehicle will ever trump a pilot's instinct or judgment, but...”  
Upon Wayne's lingering objection, Stark gives a tiny tilt of the head.  
  
“Yeah, maybe. Y'know though... I've been thinking some more, like, why not a pilot – without the plane? How's that?” It earns him a poke to the ticklish spot between his ribs, to which Tony gives an audible squeak. “Drop the attitude, silly boy, I'm serious. I really want to get WE onto a more tech-inspired route, but if you continue to bullshit me, we won't have a deal – least of all a joint venture.”

The genius inventor makes a few disappointed, smacking sounds with his tongue. “And what if I'm not, huh? Think about it: Gold-titanium alloy shell; some carbon-carbon composite and single-crystal titanium – and that'd just be the basic exoskeleton.” While Bruce remains silent for a moment, Tony's genius mind starts to spin with more ideas.

“Oh yeah, and clean power sourcing! Scaled down to fit into a palm, incorporating magnetic fields and superconductors – maybe from Palladium? Ah, I'll have to see.” He begins to fidget on the blanket, and Bruce watches him draw schematics into the sand with his index finger. Tony then cranes his neck to look at his amused husband and his raised eyebrow. Bruce can already see the fire blazing in those expressive brown eyes.

“This really could work, Bats! Just wait 'n see.”  
With a kiss on the tip of Tony's nose, Bruce gets to his feet and brushes sand off his trunks.  
“Why don't we go in and you show me your Iron Man project over breakfast?”  
  
Tony allows Bruce to pull him to his feet and grabs the blanket along on the way. When the taller man walks over to the stairs leading to the mansion, Tony Stark-Wayne gazes down at the sand again. He then smudges the rough sketch with his foot, strokes his goatee and nods to himself. Satisfied grin on his face, Tony is quick to follow Bruce's retreating back.  
  
“Iron Man, huh? Kinda catchy. It's got a nice ring to it. I mean it's not technically accurate – it'll be gold titanium alloy, but it's kind of provocative, the imagery anyway. Thanks, babe!” Bruce casts a glance over his shoulder and gives his best deadpan expression. “If you make it big and into serial production the copyright's all mine; just saying.” Tony mock-clutches at his heart and sprints through the sand to catch up with him.

“Serious foul play, Batsy! You'll get 12 percent of the credit – and my invaluable thanks. Here!”  
The Gothamite curses out loud as Tony flings the sandy blanket over Bruce's head.  
“Last one up there gets to make scrambled eggs.”

Over the sound of Tony's joyful laughter, Bruce frees himself and is quick to chase after him.

**FIN**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *start of silly rambling*
> 
> ... well, this took me longer than I figured, but here we are. I'm still amazed some of you took the time to read the whole damn thing, let alone gave kudos or left comments. Thank you all; you don't know how much that made my day(s). Batsocks deserves a medal for being my constant motivation to push this story forward; I hope you'll stick around for some more IronBat in the near future! 
> 
> *end of silly rambling*


End file.
